


A Statement of Accomplishments

by ashdeanmanns



Series: Stucky One-Shots and Shorts [5]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Boredom, First Dates, Fluff, High School, Ice Skating, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 10:48:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23970082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashdeanmanns/pseuds/ashdeanmanns
Summary: Bucky raised his hand, which held a little Sticky Note airplane, and sent it Steve's way. It spiraled through the air between them, nose flipping up from the lack of weight, and tumbled to an abrupt stop on the desk beside his own. He reluctantly put the bookmark inside the spine to mark his place, closed the book, and leaned over and snatched the plane up with his fingers. He straightened up again in his chair and pulled it apart to read the note.'Hey. Wanna play Hangman?'- - - -Bucky's Letterman jacket had one purpose - to show that he had made accomplishments.But maybe sports wasn't the only thing he was able to do. Maybe, just maybe, he had a romantic heart behind his muscle.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Stucky One-Shots and Shorts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732867
Comments: 9
Kudos: 115





	A Statement of Accomplishments

Steve was reading ahead in Farenheit 451 when a small eraser hit his right temple. It was a white cap, rubbed down and grey from use. He glanced around him, and his eyes landed on the only person it could have been.

Bucky Barnes smiled thankfully at him from where he leaned up against the whiteboard at the back of the room, feet propped and ankles crossed on the seat beside him, showing off the sturdy combat boots he wore from mid-August to the end of March. His purple and orange Letterman jacket for varisty wrestling was on his back, the sleeves worn from having gone through so much. Bucky wore it religiously, proudly, a statement of his accomplishments as an athletic champion of their district, region, and state.

Steve frowned at the boy. They've known each other for years. Same class from kindergarten to third grade, always had the same choir period for their three years in middle school, were stuck beside each other in Google for Education for a semester their freshmen year, and had the same health class the last semester of their sophomore year - Steve could barely believe that he was once awkward and had gaps in his smile, that puberty had turned him into a brown-haired, blue-eyed, tanned Adonis (it just really wasn't fair, that Bucky got his growth spurt while Steve's voice was deeper than the Grand Canyon but was barely five foot and a half.)

They hadn't spoken to each other - beyond some short phrases in passing, little nods and forced-enthusiastic smiles if they made eye-contact in the hallway - since the final exam in health on the last day of school, where everyone finished within one hour of the given two and a half, and their teacher let them all move and have free time. Bucky had seated himself in front of Steve (at the very back, in one corner), straddled the back of his chair, and watched him draw. And that was, what, over a year ago? Barely a year and a half. It had to be.

Bucky raised his hand, which held a little Sticky Note airplane, and sent it Steve's way. It spiraled through the air between them, nose flipping up from the lack of weight, and tumbled to an abrupt stop on the desk beside his own. He reluctantly put the bookmark inside the spine to mark his place, closed the book, and leaned over and snatched the plane up with his fingers. He straightened up again in his chair and pulled it apart to read the note.

**_Hey. Wanna play Hangman?_ **

He turned incredulous eyes back to Bucky, who was suddenly holding a black Expo marker and twirling it like a baton. Steve mouthed, " _What?_ "

Bucky's lips turned down, and his brow furrowed. He tilted his head and gave him a pleading look, down to the pouty lips and wide puppy-dog eyes that made Steve roll his own.

He mouthed, overpronouncing to be as clear as possible, " _Why?_ "

Bucky replied, " _I'm_ _bored_."

Steve rolled his eyes, but gave in since he had nothing keeping him from not doing it. He finished the little bit of homework he had been given before the first bell had rung that morning, he was three chapters ahead, and he was bored of scrolling through Instagram. He crumbled the folded Sticky Note in his palm and picked up his book, leaning down to grab a strap of his backpack before standing up. He hiked a foot up onto the chair he had just been in, and walked across the three seats separating him from Bucky. He hopped off the third, and sat down at the fourth beside Bucky and the whiteboard. The varsity wrestler had a shocked look on his face, as if he couldn't believe that Steve had actually moved over.

"So?" Steve whispered, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. There was a Pac Man carved into the center, mouth open toward three little circles. Well done, not too shabby. "Are we going to play Hangman, or are you just going to keep staring at me like I ate the last donut?"

Bucky's head fell back in a small laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Yeah." He turned even further in his seat, his left leg folded up between him and the back, right foot flat on the floor. "You wanna go first, or should I?"

"You should. Your idea."

Bucky uncapped the marker with a little twist of his wrist, and raised his hand to draw the hook in the space of whiteboard between them. He mouthed to himself, silently, as he wrote little dashes underneath the base of the hook. When he finally let his right hand drop, there were twelve letters. He whispered, a smirk curling his lips, "I made it difficult and put in some numbers."

Steve huffed. "Not fair."

Bucky balked, the smirk turning into a playful smile. "Dude, that's ten numbers versus twenty six letters. It's not like I gave you double the options."

Steve reached across the desk and shoved at his shoulder, and Bucky laughed - under his breath, and both of them glanced toward their study hall teacher. It looked like he was nodding off. Steve settled back into his seat with a grumble. "H."

One H.

After 'Farenheit 451' was solved, Steve's turn came and went. As Bucky tried and failed to spell 'and they were roommates!' (with an extra dash for the exclamation point, of course), he gathered his shoulder length hair up into a messy bun on the back of his head. The soft-looking strands slipped between his fingers as he worked on the style, but he eventually got everything together and kicked Steve's shin when his hangman was given hair.

As Bucky wrote out the dashes for his second turn, he asked Steve, "How's your art?" Which, Steve thought, he should have known? They followed each other on Instagram, an account he only had to spread his art and because he felt bad for having to tell so many people that, no, he didn't have an Instagram. He posted doodles on his story, and made official posts for his paintings, full sketches, and body art. Bucky's username was a regular sight on his Activity page, with his icon of he and his youngest sister Eleanor at the pool (he only knew the name and face because they had to make a Google Slides show about their families for their Google For Education practice exam. Bucky had three younger siblings that he hated to love; wrote about how obnoxious they were but got upset over not being able to find the picture of him holding his baby brother for one of the slides after searching his phone for it. Steve honestly found the whole thing adorable.)

He answered anyways, "It's fine. I tripped and dropped my set of pastels the other day." He remembered the little anxiety attack he had as he fell, and then the relief that had flooded him when he saw that there wasn't a mess, and he realized that he could do something with the unsalvageable sticks.

Bucky hissed empathetically, glancing away from his work on the whiteboard. "Do you have to replace them, or did they only split in the middle or something?"

"A handful of them are shards, but most of them are fine. I'll be fine without a new set for a little while, it's not important."

He nodded, and gestured toward the board as an 'okay' to get started.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Steve propped his chin on his fist, thin bicep pressed to the desktop. He responded, lazily, "A."

Bucky filled in two A's, in the third to last word and the single-lettered fourth. "Becca got this forty-two-pack of pastel pencils for Christmas. She gets giddy whenever she thinks about them."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ a  
_ a _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Steve chuckled. "I would, too - B - I get excited when I get new gel pens."

Bucky nodded in agreement as he drew a messy circle for a head. "That, too. She takes notes for everything, does bullet journaling. Also, seriously, man, give me something out of order - and not a vowel, or I swear I'll kick you again."

Steve smirked. "Y."

The glare Bucky turned on him was lethal, and Steve bit the inside of his lip to keep from letting loose a loud laugh; but, nonetheless, he filled in the first letter for the second word.

"O. How are your friends? He wasn't in art." Steve shared that class with the fellow senior, who Bucky had been friends with since preschool. They laughed the whole time most days a week, sometimes to the point of tears. He certainly didn't get the nickname 'Dum Dum' for nothing.

Bucky circled in the three O's. With a smile he tried his best to fight, he explained, "The dumbass broke his leg yesterday. He's taking a day to get used to the crutches before he has to brave the hallways."

Steve bit back a laugh. "What the hell did he do?"

Bucky's cheeks turned red, and his eyes began to gradually water as he tried to keep his amusement under control. "Fuck - I have no idea how he did it or what the hell happened, but he fell down the stairs from Jones' attic. He said he thought he saw a rat."

Steve bit down harder on his cheek, a little squeak coming from his throat.

Bucky swatted at him, sending an alarmed glance - though still trying not to laugh - toward their silent, but strict, study hall aide. "Dude, shut up - I can't get written up, come on!"

He folded his hands over his mouth and nose, folding up against the top of the desk. His shoulders trembled until he was able to convince himself that the idea of Dugan falling down the stairs wasn't funny, it was horrible and he was honestly worried about his well-being. He sat up again, red in his normally pale face, but let out a stuttering breath when he saw that Bucky was looking at him with a soft, warm gaze.

The other boy immediately looked away, the bun on the back of his head swinging as it slipped apart. "Um - I need a letter."

"S."

He scribbled an S on the sidelines and drew a line down from the head.

"W."

He filled in the two W's, one at the very beginning of the phrase and the other at the start of the second to last word.

Steve eyed the final, separate dash. "Exclamation point."

One leg.

"Question mark."

The punctuation was filled in, and Bucky asked before Steve could guess another letter, "How's Nat?"

Nat had been in their health class, and was one of Steve's best friends. She had moved to Alaska over the summer, and most people had heard about it. Steve missed her, but they were able to text almost whenever, call on weekdays and video-chat on the weekends. It was better than nothing. But he _really_ missed her rib-crushing hugs. There were some days where that was all he wanted.

"She's not doing too bad. Her girlfriend Sharon's pretty cute. They're adorable."

Bucky's eyes sparked with recognition. "Yeah, I think I saw pictures of her a little bit ago? Homecoming, I think."

Steve nodded. "Probably. T and C."

Bucky filled in two T's, and added C to the letter graveyard. He slashed a second leg on the board.

W _ _ _ yo _ _ o o _ t o _ a  
_ at _ w _ t _ _ _ ?

"That second word's 'you.'"

He nodded as he filled it in, and then the other U's.

W _ _ _ you _ o out o _ a  
_ at _ w _ t _ _ _ ?

Was it..? No. Steve dismissed the idea in its entirety. It couldn't be. Forgetting about it, he said another vowel. "E."

W _ _ _ y o u _ o o u t o _ a  
_ ate w _ t _ _e ?

Steve turned exasperated eyes on Bucky, whose cheeks were still flushed and kept his eyes on the whiteboard. "Are you kidding me?"

His eyes widened as he turned to look at him. "What? No!"

"I thought you were bored, not stupid!"

"I was!" he hissed under his breath, voice scraping in his throat. "I figured, might as well ask you out like I've wanted to for _two years!_ "

"You seriously did not just ask me out through Hangman?"

"No, I didn't 'just,'" he gestured at the whiteboard, "because you haven't finished it yet!"

"Fine. 'Will you go on a date with me?'"

Bucky smirked, a victorious gleam in his eyes. "Yes, I will."

Steve rolled his eyes, a pregnant silence hanging over them. The bell rang, and the room flooded with the sound it had lacked for the past forty five minutes. Steve stood up and grabbed a strap of his backpack, swinging it over his shoulder. "Tomorrow, six o'clock. The ice rink. Don't be late."

He strode from the study hall, leaving Bucky and his amazed, giddy smile behind.


End file.
